Growth
by Quinhwyvar
Summary: This life, this strange one based in the world of death, it ain't half bad except for one little thing.
1. Chapter 1

(*)

 _We are all broken._

 _That's how the light gets in._

-Ernest Hemingway

 *****0"*****

"Hi ya." Gin waves and smiles just a little bit bigger. "I'll be ya Command'r General with Tosen, 'kay?"

The Espada are not impressed. The Prima, Starrk, sighs and slumps more in his chair. The group's attention drops away like stones by staring at various objects in the room. Silence ensues.

The shimigami's hand falls back in his sleeve. This is not the welcome wagon he hopes for. Here he has no reputation so there ain't shaking boots, hasty bows or sidelong glances. Instead, the Arrancars are unresponsive.

Darn, he misses it.

One of the more normal Espada is still watching. He stares at Gin like there is food on his face. The shinigami responds by returning the look. The Espada, the fourth one, doesn't even blink. Maybe it's impossible for him to blink, who knows.

It's freaky. They're hollows. Things that Gin has killed all his life and now they're drinkin' tea like they're British.

Maybe some fun could be had anyways.

* * *

This life, this strange one based in the world of death, it ain't half bad.

Except for one little thing.

One little thing that eats into Gin too much for him to not notice it. When he ain't turning Espada against each other for a spat or watchin' Aizen gain more and more power, he thinks about it.

Rangiku and her birthday.

She doesn't know when it actually is and he doesn't care either. All he knows is that he has never missed a moment of September 29th with her for years. It's their day. Gin teases her with it all year but annually he takes the risk, showin' real affection.

Now Aizen's plan is in effect and he's separate from her. A billion worlds apart.

Oh. Yeah. She prolly hates him now too.

Gin pauses from draggin' the cord down a hallway of Las Noches. This corner is never used. He's hedging his bet on it anyways. The cameras showed that not a single alive or more importantly dead person has been in this area for ages.

It's evening. Who's gawking at Rangiku at dinner?

Not that he did anything about it when he lived in the Soul Society

It doesn't matter to Gin.

Or that's what he sayin' to himself anyways.

He takes the cord to the electrical panel he's prepped. The shinigami plugs it in. The lights sputters and he pops up his head to watch.

He'd have to wipe the cameras religiously but that's a-ok.

At the mental count of sixty, the generator rolls over and produces enough. Gin didn't ask why it works and Szayel didn't ask why Gin wanted to know about such things like overloadin' the generator. Itsa fair trade.

Oh and also that Gin gave Szayel the thumbs up on that dissection nobody wanted to hear about.

That helps too.

Szayel's plan still gives him the shivers thinking of it.

Gin follows the cord back dragging his fingers against the walls. He pads down the stairs, passing level after level of empty floors. Aizen overcompensated with his building plans. Gin was there when he calculated the necessary number of Arrancars needed dependin' on the Hogyoku.

It succeeded his expectations.

Gin would admit it but Aizen would never say he's wrong.

It violates his God status.

That equals lots of tasty corners that no one's eyes never see and now Gin is using one.

The buzz starts being auditable a floor away and he could smell the dirt on the last flight. The glow only appears around the cracks of white curtain that he had swiped from Tosen.

Tosen didn't need 'em. All the blind man needs starts with a "J" and ends with an "E".

The shinigami waits a moment. Nobody is near, not a peep. Good. It has to stay that way now.

Drawing back the curtain, he surveys his work. A four by four grid of pots filled with the best dirt he could steal basks under green lights. The nubs of the bulbs peer out from the top.

Gin kneels next to the nearest pot and brushes the tip.

"Come on tinsy thing. Ya gotta make me some daffodils by September 29th."

Besides the purrin' of the light, it is quiet. Gin knows this is a mistake. His little confession.

But that's okay.

Nobody has to know about it.

* * *

 _Welcome to my baby of the last month or so! I hope you enjoy it too. Just a couple things to note:_

 _1\. This story is me stylistically "playin'" with grammar and form to match Gin's accent._

 _2\. It is based off chapter 40 "Flower" of my 100 Moments of Morning Remembrance challenge posted here on my account._

 _3\. Gin, Rangiku, Aizen, Ulquiorra, etc are all copyrighted to Tite Kubo and I'm just using them for practice. This applies to all chapters._

 _So. What do you think so far? -Quin_


	2. Chapter 2

***** ½"*****

Now Gin knows he's fretting.

Lord Aizen ain't looking at him funny 'cause he looks at everybody funny. The Espada aren't suspicious. They don't care and they've got better things to do than to see the gardening shears in his sash or notice the dirt under his fingers.

Tosen. Tosen is the worst but the guy is blind as a bat.

Yet everyday Gin's smile is getting wider. It's growin' like a cancer. Soon enough his teeth are going to start showing and nobody wants that.

They're just itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow flowers. There ain't any harm in that.

"Gin. Would you like to enlighten us all on what you are thinking?" Aizen is doing that look again being all squinty eyes and seein' all. Gin shuffles his reports which are covered in spelling errors that nobody cares about. Tosen is staring in his direction except he's two inches off.

"The Espada aren't peachy things but they ain't gonna harm anything." The shinigami rambles and Aizen turns those scopes away towards the desert like he gets a kick out of seein' miles and miles of the same damn thing.

The room lapses into silence. Aizen revs up a little and faces Gin again.

"You are aware that lying is a very strange form of showing loyalty."

The man stills and freezes his thoughts. He traces every time he went to his garden and came back. Every time he wiped those cams. Every time he thought about it. Nah. There ain't anything.

Gin shrugs showing his hands because revealing exactly what he's doing sets people at ease. "I'm not a big fan of 'em. They give me the heebie jeebies."

"They were our enemies for hundreds of years." Aizen nods like he understands what is in Gin's head. "They are just tools. If they think about stepping out of line, I'll slaughter them all and we will start over."

The smile on Gin's face increases. "Right-o boss."

"The way of justice will stay true as long as we do not forget our goal." Tosen stirs, maybe he was napping because nobody would ever know the difference.

"Awwwww….thanks Tosen." Gin slips his hands away again since the danger has passed. "I ain't gotten my dose of justice for the day."

Tosen doesn't respond although Aizen is smiling spite himself. Itsa the right move. Gin cocks his head and scratches the back of it like he's got an itch. He doesn't, he's dislodging the dirt that he spotted under his pinky.

"Late night meetin's are nice and all but I've got hollows to terrorize tomorrow. It's time for some shut eye."

Aizen doesn't say anything. He doesn't have too. He just turns back to the view that's as boring as a bum. Gin leaves him to his starin' and walks out. He could care less if Tosen and Aizen talk more. They were boring this late at night since all they talk about are things that don't matter.

Who cares about the anatomy of philosophy or the truth or the universe or why dogs turn around when they go to sleep when all that matters is there is an entire sky between him and Rangiku.

Bleh. It ain't Gin's taste.

A couple hours later, he goes to his little patch. He likes that name cause a patch stops things from bleedin'.

He doubles back six times and creates a dummy in his room that emanates his spiritual pressure. Sure it hurts a little but it's a peace of mind thing. Like how everyone wears undies, sure nobody knows ya wear 'em but ya do it anyways.

Gin rushes down the stairs, two at a time and jumping the third step every couple with momentum. Shunpo ain't an option unless you're stupid. Aizen's smile is a worm in his head eating through his thoughts.

He doesn't know nothing. He's too busy prunin' off the weak in his own growing army.

The curtain is funny when he gets there and the shinigami's smile disappears with a poof. The cloth is half tossed back and wrinkled. Gin stops and waits, who did this and could they be waitin' to catch him on the other side? The pots he can see are normal looking. The bulbs are peekin' out their heads with little green things called sprouts.

He eases down the last step and drops to the bottom level. He could kill anything here easy as long as it ain't a shinigami and then collapse the floor so it all looks like an accident. It'd be simple as taking a piece of pie. It just matters who he is dealing with. Aizen ain't gonna to take too kindly to his gardening habits.

"'eeellllooooo….?" Gin's hand rests on the hilt of his sword. It screams in his head for blood and blood quick. Meh. Shinsō is always reaching for more, no matter what.

The shinigami peeks into his patch, "I know ya are there. I don't wanna skewer ya right away."

Silence. Gin hates to move forward to see just who is teasing him. Just 'cause it causes too many complications. He isn't thinking about the blood and gore or the killin' part but just all the bother this stuff will make for him.

He ain't the cleanup crew, he's the one that makes the mess.

"Alright. Ya had your chance."

Gin walks into the room.

It's empty.

The fan he uses for air circulation has fallen. It hums against the floor and presses the curtain back in a weird way. The machine had turned and turned and turned until it had spun itself off the stool that Gin had swiped from his blind friend.

The fan chuckles to itself as the shinigami falls a little in on himself. Only after a moment does he realize he's been holding his breath like a fool.

Gin walks over to the fan and pulls it upright with a jerk. It ain't a close call. It ain't anything worth worrin' about but he has to ignore his heart drummin' a million beats per minute.

At least fifty six more days to go.

Darn, they're gonna be long ones too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to Zaraki Jaegerjaquez and ChunkFunkMunky for the reviews! I appreciate it!**

* * *

 *****1"*****

"Gin." Tosen follows Gin just as he goes to terrorize some of the Espada. Today's hit list is Zommbari, Szayel, Grimmjow and if the stars align, Ulquiorra. The fourth Espada's aggravation depends Grimmjow's mood 'cause goodness it's delicious to turn the manic against the hollow of nothingness.

Now there's Mr. Four Eyes behind him and the fun ain't possible when the Man of Justice walks the same path as him.

"Gin."

Gin tucks his hands away and smiles. If hiding his hands ain't a habit, it's becoming one now. The scrapes and mud are creepin' in on him all the time.

Tosen's voice drops into the slaughterin' tone. " _Gin._ "

The shinigmai stops in mock surprise. "Tosen! I didn't see ya back there."

"You have an incredible habit of lying." Tosen pauses and Gin shrugs. Then he realizes that in this scenario, shruggin' means absolutely zilch.

"Nah. It's okay." Gin hurries to fill the silence and nasty expectations. "I don't lie 'bout the serious stuff."

Tosen's eyebrows do a loop de loop and he sets his hand on his sword like posturing is gonna make Gin a scaredy cat. "Let us prove that wrong. Where are my things?"

"' _xcuse_ me?"

"My stool and my curtains." The shinigami waves in the direction of the hole in the ground that he calls a 'room'. "An arrancar notified me that he saw _you_ carrying them away."

A huge grin crackles across Gin's face. He can't help it. There is too much fun in reckless danger. "Why would I need your old stuffy stuff?"

Tosen's hand tightens on the hilt. "Give me one good reason to believe that you would not take my things."

"'cccccccaussssse…" Gin drags out the words and ends the sentence all nice and short. "I don't want 'em."

"Stealing is _wrong,_ you do realize that."

"I don't got yar stuff. Maybe your arrancar took 'em and is blamin' me." Gin smiles and inches closer and closer 'til he's sure Tosen can tell what meat Gin's had in his sandwich. Gin's eyes crack open a teensy weensy bit to add to the effect. The other shinigami doesn't flinch. Of course, he's as blind as a bat.

Gin says in a fake whisper, "Or maybe he's a watchin' us fuss and laughin' at ya right now."

There's a scamperin' and a yelp. The little peepin' tom is running and running far.

Tosen squints. "I am not done talking with you."

Gin doesn't feel anything as the ex-captain disappears. Sure that little bug will die. Sure it'll be nasty but in the end, his evidence will be ripped out along with the arrancar's soul.

'Cause above everything, Tosen didn't like people messin' in his business.

The shinigami waits a minute rubbing his arm and the spiritual pressure of his victim explodes like a ripe tomato. He shakes his head and resumes the terror of his own playthings.

Grimmjow didn't feel like playin'. Throwing a bookcase at Gin's face indicates his feelin's much quicker than Grimmjow's endless new inventions of swearwords. The shinigami decides although his plan to bother Ulquiorra is dead but it could still be a zombie.

"Ulquiorra!" Gin sings and the Espada stops dead. Well, he's already dead but so is most everything else so it's not new.

Ulquiorra carries a package and Gin leans down to inspect it. "What cha got there?"

The fourth Espada is practiced at not showing any speck of emotion but the shinigami's smile grows just a tiny bit as Ulquiorra flinches back for a moment. The papers in his hands remain loose as Gin runs his fingers across the tops.

"To Aizen, To 'osen, To me, To Aizen _again_." He looks up. "Looky you sneakin' up close to us. Ya wormin' in for spot zilch?"

Ulquiorra blinks and shifts the papers so they don't slip out of his hands. "I do not have any desire to usurp Starkk or Yammy."

Gin steps back and scratches his arm. "I know ya want more."

"I do not." There is a switch in Ulquiorra's face. Minute. Microscopic. Motivating.

The shinigami ain't stopping any time soon. "Do ya know that the Sexta wants ya kicked out complet'y?"

"Do you have a point Gin?"

"Ya." The smile grows. "Do ya wanna hear it?"

"No although now I have a question for you."

Ulquiorra doesn't see the point in waitin' ta ask if Gin wants to know it 'cause he keeps plowing through Gin's surprise.

The Espada points down at the shinigami's upturned sleeve. "Have you had that infection looked at? It looks deadly to a human."

Gin follows the white finger to his own arm that he's still scratching without noticin'. The skin is leaking blood and his arm is red and angry. Has he been workin' at it all day without noticing? What's up with that?

"Nope." Gin pulls down his sleeve. "I'm breakin' out 'cause I'm around ya."

It is a sad response and even Ulquiorra prolly senses it. The shinigami backs off and the Espada straightens. The game is over and the wrong side won. Gin zips off. The more he says, the more in the metaphorical hole he'll be.

Once he notices it, the itchin' don't stop. His arm burns so much that he doesn't go to tend the garden. It gnaws away at his skin like a dog on a bone. He sits on his bed and resists the urge to scratch it, his fingers hovering inches above the area.

Healin' it doesn't work. The spiritual pressure healing takes is like setting off a firework.

Hours later, he gives it a try anyways. The warm glow cools it off better than a breeze in summer but the moment that he releases the magic, it comes back madder than before. It's unhealable for him, somethin' only Unohana could wish away.

The rash grows and then spreads to his wrists. If Gin isn't hiding a little patch of sunshine in the basement, he might have gone to Aizen to see if the captain's knowledge might work in his favor.

Now there's a spot on his chest. They're popping up everywhere like his daffodils in the pots 'xcept it ain't very positive.

Gin ends up skippin' the daily Espada meeting and tells one of the swarm of underlings that he's gonna have to a pull an all nighter to get a report done in time. Thankfully he's got a report under his bed. He has saved it for occasions like this since it's all about the correlation between babes and hollows. Real riveting stuff Aizen wouldn't spend more than a minute on.

The shinigami sprawls out on his bed dumpin' his robe on the ground. He'd have to have someone iron it later, not that he actually cares 'cause the room so hot he's toasting up. If the spots are black, he'd look like a Dalmatian havin' a bad hair day.

It ain't gonna kill him.

Gin stares at the ceiling with all its little cracks.

He's gotta make it to September 29th.

A little itchin' isn't slaughtering him tonight.

Ulquiorra, on the other hand, could kill him.

He's gone past his door twice. Nah, the padding of quiet feet makes it three.

It's not like the Quatro is stronger than the captain but the itchin' is making him loopy and tired. Shinsō didn't like it when Gin shot him off and missed.

The sword might throw a rare hissy fit like Rangiku did when the sake ain't strong enough or that little piece of rice fell where it ain't suppose to go.

Ah. Yes. Gin forgets about the burning coals on his skin.

Ulquiorra's presence leaves and shakes him out of his daydream.

It'd be an interesting fight but one that he didn't want.

It might damage those bulbs workin' their way out of the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

*****1" 1/2******

The bulbs and boils and red bits subside overnight. They melt away when Gin drifts off dreamin' of a hundred caterpillars dancing on his skin.

Ulquiorra eyeballs him all morning. Gin just does what he always does and smiles right through the inspection.

"What ya lookin at fourthy?" the shinigami asks as the Espada pauses just a hair too long after their meeting. "Does tha cat got yar tongue?"

Apparently the cat got a tongue. Ulquiorra just sidles off to his mission Gin signed him up for because itsa especially annoyin' and Gin feels like his nightly checkups might have the arrancar tired.

He's tempted to blow raspberries at Ulquiorra's back. He resists. He's about thousand years too old for that. He settles for sticking his tongue out a tiny bit.

Sure Gin is sure that the hollow has every reason to want to make him dead as a door knob. The man has aggravated him more than any of the others. Right now all Ulquiorra would do by trying to stick Gin with his sword is get himself killed. Ulquiorra is as harmless as a kitten.

Gin ignores Tosen's talk about justice 'cause he's "forgotten" his report that he promised yesterday. He skips away and soon dashes his way through the forgotten halls and silent spaces noting each time a digital eye notices him.

There's an arrancar who watches those things but he's asleep.

He didn't want to be dreaming but more and more often, via a remotely active gas, he's snoozin' the shift away. Lazy, lazy fellow.

This time the patch is warmer than before and the walls are starting to look minty. The buds are growing into leaves and they are starting to split into two. Gin's smile is increases with them.

He hovers over his pots drawing his hands behind his back, "Looky here! Ya have been busy little bees!"

The plants wave back in a ripple as the little fan draws air across their surfaces. The shinigami walks the edges surveying the patch. Who knew that the betrayer of the Soul Society, the slithering snake, the breaker of hearts, could garden?

Well. It's a silly question because now he knows who. He can.

Hopefully Rangiku would be proud of him when she found out. It ain't as hard as pullin' teeth but it ain't easy either. Certainly, it takes twice the effort.

Maybe when everything is said and done and Aizen is rottin' away in prison or the ground, whichever came first, he'd show her how to garden.

"Ya know, the silliest thing happened yest'rday," Gin chuckles as he waters the plants. He recounts the whelps to the bulbs. The space is quiet with just the hum of the fan and the occasional flap of the curtains. His little paradise.

He snuffs and methodically works through the rows, adjusting a stake here and there or tellin' a plant that it needs to catch up real quick. Every plant gets a boost. The shinigami gives it a tiny speck of his energy. It ain't soul kind but the renewable stuff, the stuff he gets by slaughtering a hollow or eatin' a hamburger.

Happily, he sits propped up against the wall, his sleeves rolled up to his shoulders and cleaning dirt from his fingernails. He watches the little things do their job. It's a peaceful place.

It's like a world where mean old nasty Aizen can't touch a thing. Gin's the God and it's a wond'rful thing. He controls all the pieces for once.

He itches his hands and freezes.

Little red marks dance up and down his fingers. The lumps are back. In a jerk, the shinigami is moves forward and drags the plant's leaves up up _up_ his right arm.

Nothing.

He grips his left arm with his slightly swelling fingers. Does it spread?

Nothing.

He checks mentally what he ate. It was different than the day before. His nose starts to revv up. What's doing this? What's causin' this drama trama?

It comes to him quietly like ripples on the water 'cept this time itsa red angry whelps. The skin on his left arm is pinker. Well, it spreads then. Now he knows not ta scratch that itch on his nose.

Okay. He could deal with another night of not sleeping.

It's when his right arm feels like it's on fire that the shinigami almost gives up.

The daffodils.

He's allergic to the daffodils.

* * *

Gin proceeds to steal various things from Tosen over the course of the next week. The shinigami is prone to it because the Man of Justice seems to be screamin' to be stolen from.

Plus, he has a healthy amount of gloves and glasses.

Every day, the flowers have to be watered. Every day, Gin treks down there dragging on gloves, covering his arms, his body, from the purdy flower buds. They are the snakes now, crawlin' up into him, curling into his body, disturbing it.

No matter what he does, every night is snowballing like the snowmen he used to make with Rangiku.

Itsa weezin' or a coughin' or any number of disturbin' things. Gin spends his time sweating or shivering through the nights. The shinigami wears the robes looser and looser so the cloth hides the jerkiness of his motions because of the scabs.

And now there's another set of inchin' eyes on him. Ulquiorra is watching.

The grin grows with every night of no sleep and he starts envisioning capturing the Hogyoku himself on the eighth night. His hands twitch even thinking about it. Gin knows the secret. The little place where itsa and how it's kept. If he touches the round thing though, he wouldn't be breathin' the next second 'cause Kyōka Suigetsu be seeking a new home in his gut.

Aizen is a fretful mother. That thing ain't leaving his sight.

Gin sighs and drags the cover up over his head. He needs a solution. He needs a way to take care of the patch or else it'll starve without water or love. He's not an idiot. This torture ain't gonna to work and he don't have the time to construct a mechanical doodad to do it for him.

Under the covers is dark and he closes his eyes against it.

Think.

Grind those wheels, come up with a solution.

It presents itself.

There's a set of feet outside his door and then they shuffle away as quietly as they came.

And with that, the captain falls asleep.

* * *

 _I apologize for skipping a week. School will do that to you. I hope you enjoyed it anyways! -Quin_


End file.
